


in my defense, I have none

by goldenraeofsun



Series: the story of us [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Alternate Universe - Teachers, Castiel & Meg Masters Friendship, M/M, Reunions, Teacher Castiel (Supernatural), Teacher Dean Winchester, spoiler: it does not go terribly
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-15
Updated: 2020-10-15
Packaged: 2021-03-09 03:27:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,415
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27028072
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/goldenraeofsun/pseuds/goldenraeofsun
Summary: At one of the sinks in the boy’s bathroom, Castiel turns on the tap and pats his heated face with a damp paper towel.He wouldn’t say he waslooking forwardto his reunion, but he’s been mentally gearing himself up for it. Ever since he heard Dean took a teaching position at their old high school, Castiel promised himself he would go to their next reunion and formally apologize for how he treated Dean ten years ago.God, he’s such a mess, and he hasn’t even spoken to Dean yet. This is going to go terribly.
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester
Series: the story of us [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1908529
Comments: 15
Kudos: 320





	in my defense, I have none

**Author's Note:**

> Whelp, I'm jossing my own fic.
> 
> The first go-round of this story left little room to explore flashbacks, so this one is a little tighter, keeps to one timeline, and hopefully sets up a better base for this series. I won't be taking down _would you have me, would you want me_ but I'm removing it from the series.
> 
> Hope you enjoy this re-do!

Castiel scrawls his name on a nametag and offers Becky a hesitant smile.

She beams back from behind her makeshift welcome table and gestures the next person forward, saying, “Hope you enjoy the reunion!”

Castiel strides down the familiar halls of Edlund High School and does his best not to regress to his teenage self, dodging glances and hunching his shoulders to make himself smaller. It’s been ten goddamn years; he has changed, even if this place hasn’t. It still smells strongly of fake-lemon cleaner and hormones, and the lockers lining the hallway could still use a paint job.

The reunion is taking place at night, and Castiel can’t help that inherent feeling of _wrongness_ at being in school past sundown. He probably should have eaten something beforehand, but his stomach has been tied up in knots for hours, and Castiel couldn’t risk adding food to the mix.

He passes a couple of his old classmates - unsurprisingly, he doesn’t recognize them - pointing at a poster with old pictures and excitedly naming names.

“Look at Dean Winchester, oh my god, I haven’t thought about him in _years!_ I had the worst crush on him, you know?”

Her companion snorts. “You and everyone else.”

Castiel snorts. Everyone else, indeed.

He walks deliberately on, following the music to the gym. The bass thumps in a vaguely-familiar rhythm, but Castiel can’t name the song or singer for the life of him. In high school, he didn’t listen to much contemporary music. His mother preferred the classical stations at home, and Dean, of course, only played his version of the classics in his car.

“Music stopped being good after the mid-80s,” Dean said as they drove down the dark highway, no headlights, only them. “Don’t let anyone ever tell you any different.”

Castiel doesn’t remember what he said in return, but he remembers the way Dean laughed, how his eyes crinkled, how he tapped his fingers along the steering wheel, how he looked, looking back at Cas.

Castiel steps into the reunion. The gym has been festooned with what looks like old prom decorations. Streamers hang off the walls in Edlund’s school colors, and bunches of mostly-inflated balloons are taped along the collapsed bleachers spelling out their graduating year. A slideshow of old yearbook photos flashes against the far wall of the gym.

Castiel stares out at a room full of strangers.

Inwardly, he sighs. He was hardly a social butterfly in high school. The exact opposite, actually. He can’t name a single person - except one - that would be able to put a name to his face. 

“Clarence!”

Make that two. 

Castiel spins around at the familiar voice. “Meg?”

He should have known. But if Castiel has learned anything over the past few years, it’s Meg Masters defies all expectations. He’d been surprised enough when she marched right up to him at his old school - Morning Star Academy - and asked him out to lunch.

After listening to him awkwardly explain that he was gay, Meg rolled her eyes and told him she just wanted to catch up. They had gone to the same high school, she said.

She didn’t seem very bothered when he said he didn’t remember her. All she did was make him pay for that first lunch, and that was the extent of his punishment for forgetting. 

When Castiel took his current job teaching Latin and French at Carver Preparatory in their hometown school district, they started meeting up for drinks instead of lunch.

Meg smirks. “I didn’t think you were going to this little shindig.”

“It didn’t come up,” Castiel says distractedly as he scans the gym.

“Yet here you are, skulking the old hallways.”

“I didn’t _skulk.”_ Castiel turns to her, offended.

“Unlike some people, my memory of high school is impeccable,” Meg says loftily, “You definitely skulked in that coat with all those books in front of your face. I was always surprised you didn’t mow down more unsuspecting freshmen.”

“I -” Castiel breaks off, unable to deny any of her accusations. It’s true he wore his old trenchcoat nearly every day (in his more poetic moments, he saw it as a foil to Dean’s everpresent leather jacket) and he tried to shut everyone out by reading while walking from class to class.

“Don’t worry about it,” Meg says with an easy pat to his shoulder. “Teenagers are the worst. I thought I was so cool back then, with the boots and the bleached hair.” She shudders at the memory.

“I’m sure you were very cool.” Castiel dips his head diplomatically.

Meg snorts. “You bet your ass I was not cool.” She tips her head over to where a group of well-dressed alums stand below the basketball hoops. “They were cool. And now look at them.” She sighs. “I would still set their extensions on fire if I could. Some things never change. Look at Victor. Talk about aging like fine wine.”

Castiel vaguely recognizes some of them from the poster outside the gym. But for the life of him, he can’t identify which one is Victor.

Meg smiles at his clueless expression. “You seriously didn’t pay attention to anything but your books?”

“I - ” Castiel breaks off, the faintest twinges of embarrassment curling in his gut. He paid attention to exactly one thing outside of his studies in high school.

Meg eyes him critically up and down. “You’re usually chattier than this. I think you need a drink.” She steers him towards the makeshift bar on a folding table.

With newly acquired alcohol, they retreat to the far end of the gym. Meg makes a game out of forcing Cas to try to name people from their class.

“I want to say, Jeremy?” Castiel guesses as Meg not-so-subtly points out a man watching the slideshow and sipping his beer.

“Close,” Meg says with a smirk. “That’s Gordon Walker. He was captain of the football team.” She subtly points to a very pretty woman scrolling through her phone near Gordon.

“She looks like a Mina to me,” Castiel says critically.

Meg throws him an incredulous look. “How did nobody know you were gay in high school?”

“I’m guessing her name isn’t Mina.”

“Bela Talbot,” Meg corrects. “You don’t remember her English accent? Pretentious as fuck. Just like Principal Crowley - not that you have to deal with him any more, since you’re over at Carver, you lucky bastard.”

Crowley was one of the main reasons Castiel left Morning Star. To tighten the budget, Crowley cracked down on students’ late lunch bills among other unacceptable measures.

Crowley was not pleased when he found out Castiel regularly squirrelled away peanut butter and a loaf of bread in his desk for emergencies. Castiel tried to explain it was for _his_ lunch emergencies, but Crowley wasn’t hearing any of it. Castiel was fired, and, after a harrowing year of substitute teaching, he used his family connection to get his current job at Carver Preparatory. 

“Eliot,” Castiel tries next.

“There isn’t a single Eliot in our class,” Meg says, laughing. “How can you not remember Lee Webb? He wore that stupid cowboy hat all sophomore year.”

It continues. The only person Castiel gets right is Tessa, and that’s because they had gone to the same church.

“You have to remember _him,”_ Meg says as waves over a newcomer entering the gym.

Castiel’s mouth goes dry. Yes, he does recognize Dean Winchester. How could he forget?

Castiel might have been a friendless loner in high school with only his books for company, but he wasn’t _dead_. He knew who Dean Winchester was, with his leather jacket, muscle car, and stunning green eyes that would make a romantic portrait artist weep.

Castiel can recall with perfect clarity the moment he found out he’d been assigned to tutor Dean in Latin. A mixture of elation and dread filled his stomach before Ms. Siege had even finished speaking. He’d get to see _Dean_. He’d have to spend time, probably alone, with Dean Winchester. And, most terrifyingly, he’d have to open his mouth and actually say words in front of him.

When Castiel looks at Dean for the first time in ten years, he barely thinks about their time in the library, when Dean would do his damndest to distract from tutoring and tease Cas to lighten up. Instead, the first memory that comes to mind is how Dean’s cheeks flushed the first time Cas made him come, and the way the Impala’s windows had fogged up, just like in the movies.

* * *

Castiel can tell the exact moment Dean spots him because he nearly trips over his feet.

“I - I need to go,” Castiel says to Meg, sheer panic flooding his veins.

“What?” she asks. “Already?”

“Bathroom,” Castiel blurts before he can think of a better excuse.

“That time of the month?” Meg asks with a faux-sympathetic frown.

Castiel doesn’t bother dignifying her question with a response. He spins on his heel and makes for the second gym exit, the one that leads to the locker rooms instead of the rest of the school.

He breathes deep as the door closes behind him. Shivering from nerves with the close call, he takes a moment to get his bearings. Are his legs shaking?

At one of the sinks in the boy’s bathroom, he turns on the tap and pats his heated face down with a damp paper towel.

He’s such a mess, and he hasn’t even _spoken_ to Dean yet.

What a goddamn joke. He hasn’t changed in a decade. Still running away from Dean like a coward.

Castiel wouldn’t say he was _looking forward_ to this reunion, but he’s been mentally gearing himself up for it. Ever since he heard Dean took a teaching position at their old high school, Castiel promised himself he would go to their next reunion and formally apologize

He splashes more water on his face, grimacing as dark spots dot his tie. Somehow it’s already gotten turned around. Castiel halfheartedly fiddles with it, trying to get it to lie straight.

The door opens behind him. Castiel freezes, but it’s not Dean.

The stranger shoots him a weird look before slipping into one of the stalls.

The man unbuckles his belt, and Castiel inwardly sighs. He can’t hide in here forever. He leaves as the sounds of an evidently painful bowel movement start up behind him. 

Right outside the gym, he steels himself. He owes this to Dean; the worst Dean can do is make a scene, and it’s not like Castiel has any plans to ever set foot in Edlund High again, anyway. He teaches at their rival high school, after all.

Castiel is here for Dean. He can do this and go home.

Back inside, he spots Meg without difficulty. She’s alone and tapping away on her phone.

Castiel approaches her, already bracing for a wave of uncomfortable questions. “Hello, Meg.”

“Hey,” Meg says distractedly. She squints up at him. “What was with the Houdini act?”

Castiel shifts his weight to the other foot. “Where did Dean go?”

Meg jerks her head to where their ‘popular’ classmates congregate, now with one added Dean Winchester. “Why do you care?”

“I don’t,” Castiel lies automatically.

Meg places both hands on her hips. “I think you forget that as a fellow educator, I have a stellar bullshit radar.”

“It’s personal,” Castiel tries next.

“Clarence,” Meg starts, the faintest note of pleading in her voice, “This reunion is boring as hell. Nobody’s gone into porn or killed anyone since we graduated. I’ve been robbed. You have to tell me, what did Dean Winchester do to you way back when?” Her eyebrows raise as Castiel bites his lip. “Or should I say, what did _you_ do to him?”

Castiel sighs. He frowns at the floor. “In senior year we were… involved.”

“Involved how?” Meg asks, her eyes gleaming. “Don’t tell me he broke your heart.”

Castiel slowly shakes his head. “The other way around.”

“Holy shit,” Meg breathes, her eyes as round as the balloons taped to the walls. She sneaks a peek over at Dean, still standing with his group of old school friends. “You’re serious.”

“I never pegged you as a gossip, Meg,” Castiel says dispassionately.

“Call me desperate,” Meg says, waving his criticism away with an idle hand. “It’s either ten-year-old gossip or watch that fucking slideshow for the fifth time in a row. If you have anything else you’d rather talk about, I’m all ears.”

Castiel jumps at the opening. “I have been wondering,” he starts, “how other schools have been integrating the state board’s recommen-”

“Anything except work,” Meg interrupts loudly. 

Castiel snaps his mouth shut with a glare.

“Come on,” Meg wheedles, “You got the class loner act locked down, but it’s not like I particularly want to see any of these people ever again.” She gestures around the gym.

“Then why come at all?” Castiel asks, honestly baffled.

Meg smirks. “Porn and murder.” She shoots him a pointed look. “But we’re getting off topic. You and Dean Winchester. Spill, Novak.”

Castiel sighs. “I was assigned to tutor him in Latin at the beginning of senior year.”

“Ohh,” Meg croons, “Somebody got hot for teacher?”

Castiel grimaces at the crude reduction of Dean’s feelings. “You could say that,” he says cagily.

Meg turns to look out across the gym, her dark eyes zeroing in on Dean. “I imagine your little heart wasn’t made of stone either.”

“No, it wasn’t.”

Meg claps her hands delightedly. “What happened?”

“I ended things,” Castiel says shortly. “We were about to graduate, and I had plans to go to college.”

“And he did not,” Meg surmises.

Castiel shakes his head. “He was considering community college, last I heard.”

To set a good example for Sam, Dean had said. He didn’t particularly care for higher education one way or another, not like Castiel, who saw college as his one way out of their hometown, out of his family, out of everything he hated about his first 18 years of life.

But somehow Dean wound up getting his degree anyway - he must have, or he wouldn’t be teaching English at their old high school.

Castiel has so many questions, but the likelihood of getting answers from Dean dwindles smaller and smaller the longer he puts off doing the very thing he came here to do.

When Dean breaks off from the group to grab another drink, Meg gives him a little push and a salacious leer. Half-mocking, half-supportive, she cheers, “Go get ‘im, champ!”

Castiel flips her his middle finger over his shoulder as he takes off after Dean.

He shoves his tingling hands in his pockets, finds walking with his hands in his pockets awkward and removes them, and then tries to come up with something else to do with his hands the whole walk across the gym. By the time he catches up to Dean, it’s hard to think through his cloud of anxiety.

He just needs to tell Dean he is sorry; Dean was right; Castiel should never have ended things between them like he did.

Dean always did like being right - that can’t have changed much over the past ten years.

Castiel stares hard at the side of Dean’s head until he’s noticed.

Dean almost drops his cup of beer as he catches Castiel waiting for him. “Christ,” he says, staggering off to the side of the bar table. “Someone should put a bell on you.”

“My apologies,” Castiel says gruffly.

This is not how he would have liked to start his first conversation with Dean Winchester in ten years. Not that Castiel had expected much better.

Dean inhales a deep breath. “Hey, Cas.”

“Hello, Dean.”

* * * 

Castiel swallows nervously. All that preparation at home and in the bathroom, and not a single word comes to mind.

“How, uh, how’ve you been?” Dean asks first. He takes a quick sip of his beer.

“I’ve been well,” Castiel says stiffly. “And you?”

“Can’t complain.”

The conversation is almost unbearably awkward, even for Castiel. How in the world did he get stuck making smalltalk with Dean Winchester? So much for best laid plans. 

“I heard you teach here now,” Castiel says.

“I do,” Dean says, his eyes wandering around the gym. “English. Started this year. You?”

“Latin and French at Carver Preparatory.”

Dean’s eyebrows rise. “No shit,” he says, a bitter note to his voice. “You’re teaching those elitist assholes?”

Castiel blinks. True, he didn’t expect Dean to exactly _welcome_ him after everything, but the deliberate antagonism is a surprise. “I wouldn’t - they’re not all assholes,” Castiel stutters. He can’t bring himself to deny the elitism. He’s loyal, not blind.

“Hm,” Dean grunts, not giving an inch. “I hope you’re not here to sabotage anything.”

“Between Carver and Edlund?” Cas asks, baffled. “This is high school, not Soviet Russia.”

Dean tips back his beer and takes a large gulp. “Tell that to the seniors who got _sued_ over a prank.”

“They stole five hundred dollars’ worth of Carver uniforms,” Castiel says incredulously, “for an internet fad.”

Dean’s mouth twitches. “I think you mean a meme. And it was hilarious.”

“A what?”

Dean snorts. “Never mind.” His expression closes off again. “And the seniors only borrowed them. All the uniforms were returned - no harm, no foul.”

The whole fiasco did not endear Castiel to anyone at Carver who called for the legal case. Even if they did not make up the majority of the faculty or parents, they had the numbers (and the money) to push it farther than it should have gone. Castiel has to put a sincere effort into not letting his disgust show on his face. 

“The parents who paid for those uniforms didn’t see it that way,” Castiel says hesitantly to Dean.

“Sucks to be them,” Dean smirks, “If their biggest worry is leftover sweat from an Edlunder, better not tell them how bowling shoes or vintage clothing works.”

From Castiel’s parent-teacher conferences, he’d be surprised if any Carver parent had ever stepped foot in a bowling alley. He’s positive the Naomis and Bartholomews that make up the PTA would sooner give up their second homes than voluntarily wear a pair of bowling shoes.

Dean tosses back his drink. “Anyway, it’s not like they can’t afford to get the douchey uniforms dry cleaned.”

“I didn’t say they were right,” Castiel says carefully, “In fact, I think Carver’s reaction was completely overblown, but you probably don’t want to hear about our administration politics behind the decision.”

“Nope,” Dean says, lips popping.

After a beat, Castiel asks, “How do you like teaching here?”

“Can’t complain,” Dean says as he eyes the dregs of his beer. “Bobby - Principal Singer - retired last year, but he put in a good word for me with Principal Mills.”

“I’ve heard good things about her.”

“Yeah," Dean says with a bit of enthusiasm, "she’s all about finally bringing us into the digital age. She’s been talking with Charlie - do you remember her? She was in our history class junior and senior year.”

The name rings no bells for Castiel. He shakes his head.

“Really?” Dean pauses. “Red hair? Queen of the Nerds?”

Castiel shrugs.

Dean tries again, “You gotta remember her novelty tee shirts.”

Castiel says dryly, “I think you’re vastly overestimating how much attention I paid to our classmates.”

“But-”

“Dean,” Castiel says impatiently, “You are the _only_ person I remember from high school.”

Dean balks for a moment, his cheeks flushing. “No way,” he says flatly. “You can’t seriously - I saw you talking to Meg Masters.”

Castiel eyes the mostly-depleted drink in Dean’s hands enviously. He doesn’t have enough alcohol to discuss his social deficiencies as an adult - or as a teenager. “We worked together briefly,” he admits, “at Morning Star.”

Dean whistles. “Well, I guess Carver is a step up from _that.”_

“Indeed,” Castiel agrees wryly. “I was only there a year. The administration at Carver is a nightmare, but at least they’re not sadists.”

“Morning Star’s got some horror stories,” Dean admits.

“There isn’t much good that goes on in that school,” Castiel says wearily. “Principal Crowley - well, the less said about him the better. Meg hates him. The students, though,” he swallows, “they deserve better.”

Dean’s expression hardens. “They always do.”

“Anyway,” Castiel says quickly because going down that road always makes him want to hit something - preferably Crowley’s smirking face, “I didn’t remember Meg either until she told me we went to school together.”

Dean lets out a surprised laugh. “I guess you always did have your nose in a book.” He makes a face and gestures around the gym. “Then why come to this snoozefest? The whole point is to catch up with old friends.”

“According to Meg, the point is to discover who went into pornography or to prison over the past ten years.”

Dean chuckles. “You can mark me down for ‘no’ on both counts.”

“I - well, I had assumed so,” Castiel says awkwardly.

“Oh, so…” Dean drifts off, for once at a loss for words.

As the silence ticks on, Castiel’s reason for coming to the reunion crowds at the tip of his tongue. But he can’t make the words come out.

Dean drains his beer. He lets his gaze drift away from Castiel, lingering on someone or something over Castiel’s left shoulder. “Well, it was nice seeing you, Cas, I’ll see you ar-”

“I came here to apologize to you,” Castiel blurts.

Dean’s eyes snap to Castiel’s face. “What?”

Castiel swallows nervously. “For high school.”

“Okay,” Dean crosses his arms across his chest. “A lot of things happened in high school. Specifics would help.”

Castiel inhales a deep breath. “I’m sorry for how I handled our… relationship.”

Dean’s mouth twists, his face darkening. “I wouldn’t call what we did a relationship.”

“Right,” Castiel says, his stomach sinking. “Our arrangement, then. What I did - what I did to you - it’s one of the biggest regrets of my life.”

Dean purses his lips. “What would’ve you done differently?”

“Excuse me?”

“Humor me,” Dean asks, and it doesn’t sound like a suggestion. “If you could go back. Get a do-over. What would you do?” His eyes narrow. “Would you have come out? Or maybe stopped me before we got down and dirty in the Impala in the first place? ‘Cause I’ve played this game a few times, and I know which one I would’ve gone for.”

Castiel thinks it over. “Rationally,” he says slowly, sounding the word out as he tries to string the rest of his thoughts into a coherent sentence, “I should have kept our interactions strictly based around our tutoring sessions.”

Dean’s jaw clenches. He nods.

Castiel can’t tell if his explanation is hurting Dean more. It’s like he’s been dumped out at sea with no sign of land in the distance. Mouth dry, he barrels on, “But realistically, there’s no way that could have happened, so I probably should have asked you to wait... for me.”

Dean blinks in surprise, his hardened exterior cracking the tiniest fraction. “Wait?” he echoes faintly.

“I couldn’t come out in high school,” Castiel says dully. What he wouldn’t give for another drink. “If my mother got wind of my sexuality, she would have put conditions on my college tuition without another thought, or forced me to take a gap year to do churchwork or something equally horrendous.”

Dean presses his lips together, his brow furrowing. “I didn’t know that,” he says eventually.

“I was ashamed,” Castiel drops his gaze to the floor, “You clearly loved your family, and your father… well, even with his flaws, he seemed to accept you. My situation was nothing like that.”

“Dad didn’t know about me either,” Dean mutters. 

“Sorry?” Castiel asks, raising his head.

“Dad didn’t know I went for dudes and chicks,” Dean explains. “But he was hardly around, so if _I_ didn’t tell him and _Sammy_ didn’t tell him, odds were he’d never find out.” He bites his lip as he meets Castiel’s stare head-on. “How long?”

“How long?” Castiel repeats, confused.

“How long would you have asked me to wait?” Dean asks, a hard edge to his words.

Castiel hesitates, wrong-footed at their backtracking conversation. “Until I had started my first semester at college.”

Dean’s mouth falls open. _“What?”_

Castiel frowns. “I had no plans to be in the closet after I moved out. My mother has too many connections here, the junior league, the civics board, HOA, and who knows what else. But in my college town, she knew no one. I could finally be myself.”

Dean splutters nonsensically before he says, “You didn’t think to ask me to wait _one measly summer_ for you to get your head out of your ass?”

“But I wasn’t just asking for ‘one summer’,” Castiel protests.

Dean’s outrage falters at Castiel’s air quotes.

“It would have been one summer and _four years_ of long distance. I knew you had… feelings for me, but I had already taken so much from you.” A wonderful, terrible future that never happened spools out before his eyes before he snaps back to the present. “Are you saying you would have waited?”

“I don’t know!” Dean says, sounding slightly manic. He runs a hand through his hair distractedly, muttering to himself under his breath. 

Castiel forces himself to look Dean straight in the eye. He deserves the whole story, not just the parts that Castiel used to justify his actions. After a deep breath to calm himself, he says, “A part of me was looking forward to a completely fresh start, too. But, of course, I was the same as ever,” he chuckles without a trace of humor, “friendless, caught up in the details, narrow-minded. It didn’t take long to realize I was only ever a different person when I was with you.”

“Jesus Christ,” Dean says, staring right back, “I had no idea.”

Castiel shrugs. “I never told you.”

“You should’ve,” Dean says shortly.

“I should have,” Castiel agrees.

Dean bites his lip, looking conflicted. His gaze flits around the gym, behind Castiel, where undoubtedly more of their classmates vie for his attention. And, that’s good, because Castiel finally said his piece. He can go home, and never think about Edlund High School or Dean Winchester again.

(Because that worked so well when he left Dean the first time.)

Castiel takes a step backwards. Personal space, he remembers. Stiffly, Castiel says, “Anyway, that’s why I came to the reunion. To see you. To tell you that. I shouldn’t keep you any long-”

“Are you single?” Dean interrupts.

Castiel’s brain takes an embarrassingly long moment to understand the question. “Yes?”

“Do you want to get out of here?” Dean asks, a strange glint in his eye.

“I do,” Castiel says truthfully. “I don’t like social engagements.”

“Some things never change,” Dean says with a small grin. He gestures to the door. “What do you say to a drive?”

Castiel blinks.

“For old time’s sake,” Dean says, with a fucking _wink._

Castiel’s mouth falls open. “I - is this a joke?” His brow furrows. “Retribution for refusing to see you outside of our… trysts?”

Dean’s face goes through a multitude of expressions Castiel can barely hope to read - shock, guilt, perhaps cautious optimism? “God no,” Dean says quickly. He coughs and shifts his weight to his other foot. “Shit, I was trying to make a joke. Sorry. Not there yet.” 

“I don’t understand.”

“Look,” Dean starts, “since we’re apparently crap at asking for what we want: we’re both single,” Castiel’s eyebrows rise because this is news to him, “and this reunion is boring as hell, so I’m asking if you want to do something else instead.”

“With you?” Castiel asks because it sounds implied to him, but he can never be too sure when it comes to Dean Winchester.

Dean glares. “Yes, with me, Cas.”

Castiel chews on his lip as he tries to figure out why Dean would initiate an activity with him, apart from the obvious. When he fails to come up with any sensible reason, he has to ask, “Are you asking me on a date?”

Dean throws both hands in the air. “I swear, you’re being dense on purpose. Since you need everything spelled out for you: will you go out with me, Castiel Novak?” Without waiting for an answer, Dean tacks on, “Jesus Christ, high school really never does end.” 

But he doesn’t really seem all that mad. So Castiel tells him, “Yes, I’d like to go on a date with you.”

Dean nods to himself, the corners of his mouth lifting into a small smile. He jerks his head towards the door. “Wanna go?”

“But,” Castiel waves one hand in the direction of the multitude of people behind them, “aren’t there people you’d rather talk to first?”

Dean shakes his head. “Not right now, no.”

* * *

Dean takes the steps down to the parking lot at a bit of a jog. He makes a beeline to the very familiar hulking beast, parked at least three spaces away from any other car. 

A frisson of anticipation thrums up Castiel’s spine at the sight, a dormant reaction he’d thought ten years dead. Castiel pauses outside the passenger side of the Impala and tries not to fidget as he waits for Dean to notice him. 

“Everything okay?” Dean asks as he yanks open the car door.

“Why me?” Castiel asks bluntly.

Dean pauses, straightening to his full height. “What do you mean?”

“Why did you ask me out?” Castiel asks. He throws his hand out in the direction of the school. “You could’ve had anybody.”

Dean shrugs, not denying it. “Call it a favor to teenage me.”

Castiel frowns. “If this is from some nostalgic whim, I’m not sure we shou-”

“It’s not nostalgia, dude,” Dean cuts him off. “I’m taking a chance on you because I knew you way back then. This, tonight,” he gestures between them across the Impala’s gleaming roof, “is because I think you’re hot and liked catching up with you.” Dean smiles wryly, “It’s one date, Cas, not marriage.”

Castiel asks bluntly, “Does this mean you forgive me?”

Dean inhales a sharp breath. “You were seventeen.”

That’s not an agreement. It’s an excuse.

“I was old enough to know what I was doing to you was wrong,” Castiel counters.

“Come on,” Dean rolls his eyes. “If there’s anything I learned from teaching, it’s that teenagers are morons. Uncle Sam may let them go to war and vote, but I sure as shit wouldn’t. Kids are idiots.” His mouth lifts into a tentative smile. “Even the ones with a 4.0 GPA and perfect attendance.” Dean taps his fingers on Impala’s roof, but he doesn’t seem impatient, more pensive. It’s a look Castiel never saw on teenage Dean. “I’m sure you were doing the best you could’ve under the circumstances. I might not have got it then, but I get it now.”

“It wasn’t perfect,” Castiel mutters as he gets in the Impala.

“Sure it wasn’t,” Dean says sardonically as he slams the door behind him and starts the engine. “It’s not like I can’t hack the old attendance records and see for myself since I work at Edlund now.”

“That seems like a lot of work to make a point.”

“If you think I wouldn’t do it, you don’t know me at all,” Dean says gravely, eyes twinkling.

“Oh, I don’t doubt you’d do it,” Castiel says, “You broke into Principal Singer’s office to steal back the switchblade that you brought to school for some unfathomable reason.”

“You remember that?” Dean asks, surprised.

“Your detention derailed an entire week’s worth of tutoring,” Castiel says dryly. “We couldn’t finish Cicero in time for your exam.”

Dean chuckles. “That makes more sense. Figures that part would stick in your noggin.”

“I had also recently fingered you for the first time,” Castiel reminds him, “I was very put out about waiting a whole week to do it again.”

Dean chokes on air as they come to an abrupt stop at a red light. He coughs, thumping his fist against his sternum.

In the ensuing silence, Castiel runs his hand over the dash, reading the minute grooves and divots like he’s rediscovering his favorite book. He says quietly, “I never thought I would be in the Impala again.”

Dean’s recovered enough to roll his eyes. “You’re the one who wanted to wait. I think ten goddamn years is long enough.”

**Author's Note:**

> Reblog this story on Tumblr [here](https://goldenraeofsun.tumblr.com/post/631801039627091968/in-my-defense-i-have-none)!


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